


All's Devine In Desire

by strawberryskylines



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Angst, Cheating, F/M, High School, Homophobia, Love, M/M, Parties, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryskylines/pseuds/strawberryskylines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Peter kisses Wendy but Louis doesn't kiss Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I'm a dummy. I went to edit the second chapter again of this fic and ended up deleting the whole story. Like, I don't even understand what happened, lol.
> 
> So, this is just a re-posting. Sorry.

“Oh, Peter! Save me!” Harry throws a hand in front of his eyes dramatically like he’s seen all the great starlets do in the old films he watches with his mum on Sundays. He presses his forehead into the rough bark of the tree in which he’s currently perched in, and kicks his legs out as if he’s terrified of the pirate – whom happens to be Zayn – capturing him. “Save me from that _monster_!”

“Peter is never going to save you, Wendy!” Zayn cries up to Harry in a sinister-like voice. He waves his hook (a spatula) up in the air near where Harry’s feet are dangling, the left side of his painted-on mustache smudged up his cheek. “I’ve locked him up! Him and that damn fairy!”

(Then there’s a pause in the game in which Harry initiates because, “you can’tswear, Zayn.” And then Zayn sheepishly replies, “Sorry, I think I got a little carried away.”)

“It doesn’t matter if you’ve locked him up, Pirate Malik! He’ll come for me anyway!” Harry resumes his role and shouts more loudly than probably necessary, but it’s only because last time they played there were some not-so-nice comments about his acting skills or, rather, lack of. This time he is determined to impress. “Don’t underestimate the power of true love!”

Zayn lets out a hearty laugh, one that makes a pair of birds nesting in a nearby tree take off into the clear blue sky. He holds a hand to his chest and wipes invisible tears from his eyes like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “True love? Ha. That’s baloney.”

And then there’s some rustling in a group of hedges a few feet away, followed by a groan and a muffled “but I don’t wanna, Lou” and then from out of the bushes steps two figures. One with a plastic sword tucked into of the belt loops of his jeans and the other with homemade cardboard fairy wings strapped to his back. The one with the sword, Louis, wields his fake weapon and points it straight at Zayn. “No, _you’re_ baloney, Pirate Malik!”

“Peter Pan?!” Zayn gawks in disbelief, his brown eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he stares at the two boys in front of him. His eyes roam over to the blonde boy standing next to Louis and he almost has to clamp his hand over his mouth to contain a snicker that’s threatening to break loose. “And Tinkerbell?”

“Yes, it is I, Peter Pan!” Louis bows royally to Zayn, and some of his fringe falls into his eyes. It’s caramel colored and feathery, and that’s pretty much why they had all decided a long time ago that Louis would be playing Peter’s part. The resemblance is uncanny. When he flicks his hair out of his face, he looks up briefly at Harry and flashes him a small smile, one corner of his lips quirking skyward. Harry happily returns the look, and then glances away when he starts to feel his cheeks warm up.

There is silence for a few moments before Louis nudges the blonde boy next to him, Niall, in the ribs. Niall lets out a huff and then shoves back at Louis before lamely saying, “Yeah, and me, Tinkerbell.”

“I told you he’d save me.” Harry is quick to jump back into the script. He’s not going to let Niall ruin all the fun just because he doesn’t want to play a girl character. Harry is playing a female too, but you don’t see him grumbling like a baby.

“I’d always save you, Wendy.” Louis says, and he’s still looking up, blue eyes twinkling like rare jewels in the afternoon light and maybe that’s the reason why Harry never complains.

“Enough!” Zayn shrieks, throwing his hands up into the air and almost flinging the spatula across the clearing. He looks absolutely ridiculous with his smeared mustache and makeshift eye patch, but it’s hard to focus on those things when he’s playing his part so well. “You will never save Wendy! You have to defeat my tree monster first!”

Louis raises his sword in a fighting stance and Niall kicks a rock that’s near him with his sneaker before scuffling back towards the hedges he’d just come out of. Harry claps his hands together, getting ready to belt his next lines, but then presses his fingers firmly into the branch he’s sitting on when his heart leaps into his throat because he feels like he’s about to fall. Sometimes he forgets how high he had actually climbed – or how high Louis had made him climb.

They wait a few heartbeats in quiet, but nothing expected happens. Zayn looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes, and pointedly repeats, “I _said_ ‘you have to defeat my _tree monster_ first’!”

More silence except for a few birds chirping here and there, then there’s a cough from behind a tree a few feet away followed by a small, “I – I don’t want to come out, you guys.”

(There’s another pause to the game because Louis whines, “ _Lee-yum_ ” over and over and over again so it sounds like a mantra until the boy in question finally emerges from his hiding spot. His outfit consists of a green T-shirt and trousers, with some leaves and twigs glued onto the fabric, so he looks like a proper tree monster.)

“Defeat my tree monster and then maybe you’ll stand a chance against defeating me and saving your precious Wendy!” Zayn laughs manically again, and he scampers around to the base of the tree in which Harry is balanced in, blotting more of his makeup.

Liam rolls his eyes at Zayn’s obvious over dual of the acting and then kneels down briefly to grab at some of the grass surrounding them and intertwine it with his brown locks of curls. If you squint, you’d think he and Harry could be twins because of their similarity in hair, but Liam’s is definitely shorter and a lot more Shirley Temple like. Plus, Louis never tugs playfully on Liam’s curls like he does to Harry’s, so.

After he’s messed himself up a bit, Liam opens his mouth and lets out a wild yell before he runs across the clearing at Louis.

Louis doesn’t back down, however. Instead he raises his sword and lets out a shout of his own – which soundly strangely of something like, “for Harry!” but it could’ve been ‘Wendy’; Harry can’t hear that well from where he is – and lunges for Liam.

They meet somewhere in the middle of the lawn and then they’re on the ground, tumbling around in the dirt and making sound effects with their mouths. They struggle around, rolling shreds of grass and dust into their clothing

“You will never save him, Pan! _Never!_ ” Zayn calls from his position of leaning against the trunk of Harry’s tree, and he waves his spatula in a semi-threatening way.

Louis wriggles out of the hold Liam has him in and then turns around to Zayn, his hair disheveled and soil caking his ruddy cheeks and hands. “Shut your dirty mouth, Pirate Malik!”

That’s all he gets to say, though, because then Liam takes the opportunity to grab him from behind and then they’re wrestling around all over again.

After a few minutes, a few harmless punches are thrown, a few kicks, and there are a few fake slashes of Louis’ sword. They both release each other and scramble away, breathing hard until Louis nods his head as an emphasis that they’re battle is finished. Then he sprints at Liam again and sticks his sword in the crevice of Liam’s under arm. “Take that!”

“You’ve defeated me.” Liam opens his mouth in the shape of an O as if he’s shocked that Louis would stab him, and then clutches his chest. He sways in the spot where he’s standing before he slowly lowers himself to the ground, folding his legs underneath of him. He unfurls and then is lying on his back with his gangly, ten year old limbs spread out on the grass. With his doe eyes staring at the expanse of the sky above him, he announces, “I am dead.”

“There! You’re stupid tree monster is slain!” Louis snatches his sword up from where it’s resting near Liam and raises it in the air like a token of his victory. He then aims the phony sword at Zayn, who’s seemingly cowering from his spot near the tree. “It’s just me and you, Malik.”

From his place, Niall, sounding a bit more enthusiastic this time, shouts, “Fight!”

The fight with Zayn doesn’t take long, as usual, because they’ve done this a thousand times. There’s some tumbling around, some scuffling, a few protests and shouts, and then it’s over. Zayn twirling in dramatic circles all around the base of the tree, and then he’s done, face down in the grass.

Louis crosses his arms over his chest in a stance of pride, and then he stares just a little bit wearily at the tree before he lets out a huff of breath. Than he pushes the sleeves of his denim jacket up to prepare himself to the climb he’s about to attempt.

“Everyone is defeated.” Louis says a little breathlessly, bangs pushed back and off his forehead after he drags the back of his hand over it to wipe off sweat. His cheeks are beet red from exertion and his clothes are rumpled and spotted with grass stains but he’s never looked so beautiful, Harry thinks. “You are saved, Wendy.”

Harry lets his lips tug upwards, and, no, it isn’t part of the original script, but it’s okay to adlib sometimes. So he says, “My hero.”

And he means it, he really means it.

A slow, loose smile spreads out across Louis’ face then, and he reaches across, warm palm sliding across the younger boy’s cheek. He comes to caress the fine hairs at the nape of Harry’s neck and then that’s when it happens.

It’s not a kiss really, but it is.

There’s no movement or head tilting or tongues colliding or spit swapping. It’s just a simple thing of dry lips pressing against equally dry lips, and Louis’ dirty hands in Harry’s hair but it’s _wonderful_. It’s soft and tentative on both their parts, and Harry’s heart is racing, _thumpthumpthumping_ against his ribcage painfully.

He squeezes his eyes shut so hard that he sees stars, because isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you’re being kissed? He’s never done this before; he doesn’t know how this is supposed to work.

But almost as soon as it happened, it’s over, because Louis is pulling away from him, lips separating with a barely audible _pop._ Harry’s eyes snap open and Louis is just sitting there almost exactly like he was before the kiss, but now his cheeks have caught a pink tint, his hands are at his sides and his chest is heaving. Harry can only imagine what _he_ must look like. Somewhere below them, Niall is grumbling, “Can we go now? I’m hungry.”

“Me too. I think my mum baked a cake this morning.” Zayn supplies to them, sticking the spatula in his back pocket and wiping some of his mustache off with the back of his hand.  It comes off easily, but it’s a little smudged near the corner of his mouth. He’s completely oblivious to the fact that two of his best mates have just taken each other’s kiss-ginities above his head. “We could go to my house.”  

“I want to take a shower first.” Liam whines from the ground where Louis had left him, just as ignorant, and begins to furiously scrub at the dirt stains spotted on his pants. “I’ve got grass in places where it shouldn’t be.”

Niall wrinkles his nose as he wrestles with himself to get the fairy wings off his back. “Too much information, Li.”

Harry is barely aware of their complaining, though. He’s too busy still staring at Louis, his best friend in the whole wide world who just _kissed_ him. They’ve been playing Peter Pan for as long as he can remember. Louis was the one who had suggested it, and ever since then, it’s been their favorite game to play after school and on the weekends when the five of them hang out. They all wrote a script together and everything. But, Peter kissing Wendy at the end was never part of the original concept. Harry would know; he memorized it by heart. So, this – this is definitely new. This is something different, and all he wants to know is _why._ Swallowing, he says a bit shakily, “Lou.”

The older boy visibly cringes for a brief second like he’s waiting for Harry to begin yelling at him or something, but then something in his eyes flash. They glaze over into something cold, something much icier. He purses his lips together tightly and with a raised, mocking brow, he says challengingly, “Harry.”

The way he says it makes Harry’s heart plummet dramatically to his stomach, and the air around them feels like it has an electrical charge. It’s so tense around them you could cut it with a knife, or maybe a witty joke that would make Louis laugh.

Finally, Niall squints and looks up at them, slicing through the pressure with his thick accent. “Are you guys coming or what?”

“Of course.” Louis doesn’t hesitate, and he begins to scramble out of the tree immediately. He jumps down to the ground without waiting to see if Harry is making it safely down the tree (like he always does) and immediately pounces on top of Liam, demanding a piggyback ride all the way back to his house and laughing raucously. He just acts so cool and nonchalant and normal.

Almost like nothing had happened at all.

\--

Harry waits until after the rest of the boys have fallen asleep – or hopefully have drifted into a state of unawareness – and it’s just him and Louis face to face on the floor. The darkness of the night and Liam’s spare Batman blanket are the only things covering them.

He wasn’t going to say anything, not at first. After stuffing their faces with all the goodies Zayn had stolen from his mom (and after Liam finally got his shower), all the boys had retreated into Liam’s bedroom. While his mother made the necessary calls to everyone’s mothers about a surprise sleepover, the boys had all set up camp and their usual pillow fort, which consisted of nicking extra sheets from the linen closet down the hall to hang between Liam’s bed and dresser.

It was normal, something they always did over the weekends. Nothing was out of order. Louis and Zayn were set up in front of Liam’s box TV, video games hooked up. Liam was surveying his room like a hawk, alternating between reprimanding Zayn for shucking off his smelly socks and just leaving them on the floor and smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets of the fort. Niall was trying his best to engage Harry in a game of cards (which the blonde lad _always_ cheated at, which is why he had to beg people to play with him).

The difference this time, though, was that Louis was going out of his way to avoid Harry. Because Harry always plays the loser whenever Louis and Zayn are on the video games. And Zayn is always the loser, because his Mario Kart skills are not the best. That’s just how it is.

Except, this time, when Zayn loses, and when Harry makes his move to sit beside Louis, the older boy feigns boredom, loudly claiming he’d rather play one round of Go Fish with Niall instead. Which is complete bullshit (excuse his language) to Harry because Louis loves Mario Kart more than he loves his own life, almost.

And when the night gets a little later and Liam starts reluctantly handing out his comics for the boys to read before bed, it’s pretty much normal for Louis and Harry to share one together. Louis will lay on his back in his spot on the floor and Harry will curl up beside him, practically tucked under his arm, and they’ll read together. It’s just what they’ve always did, what they always _do_.

Not tonight, apparently. Because Louis’ asking Liam for an extra comic besides the four he dished out, and Harry foolishly thinks it’s because they’re going to read two instead of one and he’ll get to soak up the warmth that the older boy radiates a little bit longer. But then Louis is handing him the comic (it’s Spiderman) with a quivering smile on his face and saying, “You don’t mind reading on your own, right?”

That was the absolute final straw because, sure, Louis can avoid playing video games with him, and not talk to him for the entirety of the night, but he _cannot_ take reading comic books together away from him. That’s a problem, and Harry is determined to solve it.

“You kissed me.”

Louis had been dozing off for the past fifteen minutes or so, never fully reaching sleep, but his eyes snap open immediately at Harry’s words, the blue in them freezing over again. He sits up a bit from lying flat on his back, and he scans the other three boys sleeping soundly before he looks at Harry with furrowed brows. He whispers, “What?”

Swallowing some excess saliva, Harry steels himself internally before he sits up too, and repeats with a small voice and a twisting stomach, “You kissed me when we were playing Peter Pan.”

“No I didn’t.” Louis snaps back quickly, fiercely, almost defensively, but still in a quiet voice. Harry feels him tense up, and the older boy wriggles away, creating a great space between them. He’s wearing one of Liam’s nightshirts, and since Liam is broader in the shoulders, the shirt is slipping down to reveal the flesh of his shoulder. The skin looks warm even in the pale moonlight that’s washing over it from the window.

Harry shakes that thought away, licks his lips, keeps on insisting. “Yes, you did.”

“No _I_ didn’t, dummy.” Louis rolls his eyes and he’s looking at Harry with those eyes that are saying _shut up you don’t understand you’re a kid_. And okay, maybe he doesn’t understand the reason behind kisses and that they can be just for play sometimes, like in movies and stuff, but still. He knows that wasn’t for pretend. It wasn’t in the _script_. “ _Peter_ kissed _Wendy_. I didn’t kiss you.”

That’s makes little to no sense in Harry’s mind. “But you were Peter and I was Wendy.”

“No, they were characters we were playing. That’s not the same.” The older boy spits, and he’s visibly chewing on the inside of his cheek. It’s what he does when he’s nervous, a habit he’s had for most of his life. He pulls a bit at the nightshirt, covering his exposed shoulder like he could sense Harry zeroing in on it. “That doesn’t count.”

And, wow, that kind of hurts, but Harry isn’t backing down. Not yet. “But –”

“I didn’t kiss you, okay, Hazza?” Louis snaps firmly and finality, pitch raising an octave so he’s whisper-shouting, and he sounds mean now. His eyes are angrier than his voice, though, blue gems ablaze. He raises a hand to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Don’t talk about it. Just leave me alone.”

Harry’s mouth closes with a clamp of his jaw, and he tries really, really hard not to cry. But the stupid tears, they’re coming on their own accord, because Louis has never fired at him like that, has never treated him like he’s annoyed with him (even when Harry really was being annoying). Trying not to sound like a crybaby but failing so, so miserably, Harry whispers, “You’re being so mean to me.”

“Well, you keep pestering me, so.” Louis lets out a long sigh, sounding heavy in his chest. He scoots a bit closer then, but not as close as he would’ve had all this – this nonsense not occurred. He lies down on his side, now, facing away from Harry and pulls the blankets up to his shoulder. “Just be quiet and go back to bed.”

And Harry wants to yell and scream and say things like _but you’re my best friend, you can’t treat me like this_ and _it’s okay if you want to kiss me again, I want to do it too_ but he lies back down, instead, on his side. Facing away from Louis, because he’s not the only one who can do it.

That night, when Harry cries himself to sleep, he tries his best not to make a sound.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Harry is awkward and Louis is drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two, whoo. 
> 
> Okay, so time sort of sped up since chap one and from now on Harry is 17 and Louis is 18. I know that that's not accurate to their real life ages, but it's just for the sake of the story. 
> 
> Also, there is an instance of homophobia and a homophobic slur, so there's a warning about that. 
> 
> This is also unbeta'd, so sorry about any typos. I will fix them eventually.

_Would you always_

_Maybe sometimes_

_Make it easy_

_Take your time_

It’s a Saturday night, and Harry is rolling through his teenage years. He’s supposed to be out and about, partying it up with all his friends with their booze and pills and kissing all the pretty girls he can in one sitting and basically just living while he’s young. Except for the fact that he’s not.

Instead, he’s lying on his stomach on his bed, textbook upon textbook upon textbook splayed open in front of him. Grizzly Bear is blasting from his headphones and he’s chewing hard on the pink eraser of his pencil because why is the font so damn small?

This is typical, for him.

And he’s not going to be embarrassed in the slightest if he’s ever caught doing homework on a _Saturday_. It’s just the way he is, the way he’s always been, and will possibly always be. He doesn’t mind it, because it’s good to be caught up with your studies. But why is the font so _small_?

He’s broken out of his trance of small-font-hating when his phone buzzes beside him. It doesn’t do the standard one-buzz thing if it’s just a text message; instead it keeps shaking to announce that there’s a call coming through.

He unlocks his iPod to put the song on pause before he goes to answer his vibrating phone. When he presses the button to accept the call, he clears his throat and says, “’lo?”

“Harry?” It’s Zayn’s voice, a voice he would know anywhere. But then there’s voices behind his, and a lot of them, and some music too. Harry can’t pinpoint exactly what song it is, but he recognizes the beat of it from the most recent Top 40. Zayn is at a party.

Rolling so he’s on his back now, using a textbook like a pillow, staring up at his ceiling which has a picture of the Spice Girls ripped from a magazine super glued to it - Louis had stuck it up there when they were younger just to be a little shit – and answers, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I know it’s late and everything, but I kind of need your help.” The other boy’s voice is a little spotty, other people talking and the music drowning him out a bit. “So, we’re at this party that Josh is throwing and it’s fucking massive, man, you should’ve came. Um. Yeah, anyway, Louis is drunk off his ass right now and I don’t even think he remembers his own name. I’d take him home, but I have to take Perrie home too, and you know she lives on the other side of town. D’you think you could come get him?”

“Sure.” And Harry internally rolls his eyes so hard because this is typical. For Louis. Ever since the older lad had discovered the wonders of beer and sweaty party crowds, he’s become something of an addict. It’s like every Saturday night he _needs_ to be out somewhere getting completely wasted or he’ll just die. And it’s also typical that it’s Harry’s duty to come rescue him whenever he gets plastered from making an ass out of himself, or cleaning up the damage if he already has. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Sneaking out isn’t so bad, once you get used to it, like Harry has. After hanging up with Zayn, he finds a jumper that he can almost guarantee is clean to throw on over his pajamas and laces up his trainers. Going out the front door is pretty much suicidal, and is reserved only for the masters of sneaking out after dark, like Louis. So, Harry goes out through his window instead.

It’s a bit terrifying, since his bedroom is on the second story and all, but he thanks all the deity’s above that there’s a sturdy English Oak growing a couple feet from his window. One of the branches is just within his reach. He’s known how to climb up and down trees ever since he was little; he’s a professional at this.

He used to be scared shitless all the time when he first started doing it, always so paranoid that the moment he even set foot out onto the lawn, his mother was going to wake and an alarm would blare and dogs would jump out of hedges and attack him.

But after the fourth time, he learned that no such thing was ever going to happen because where on Earth would his mother purchase attack dogs?

The walk to Josh’s house isn’t too far, thankfully. If it was, Harry would kill Louis after he saved him. But it’s really only a ten minute walk. Would be a five minute drive if, you know, Harry had a car. He’s working on it though, saving up everything he can.

He can hear Josh’s house before he sees it. He can feel it before he sees it, too.

The music can be felt from half a block away, making the sidewalk vibrate and car windows rattle. Harry’s surprised that the authorities haven’t infiltrated yet. It’s bound to happen though, because as Harry walks up Josh’s front path, he can see some of the Devine family’s neighbors glaring harshly through their windows.

Finding Louis isn’t hard at all. As soon as Harry pushes his way through the front door of Josh’s house –which is barely hanging on its hinges, poor thing – the older boy can be seen with his arms up in the air, a sloshing bottle of beer in his hand, and he’s shaking his hips rhythmically.

All while he’s standing on a coffee table.

Harry runs an exasperated hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. Louis has gotten to the level of intoxication where he’s dancing on untrustworthy, high platforms. Thank goodness Harry got here when he did, because this would not have ended well for anyone if he hadn’t. He starts then, wriggling and pushing past the crowds of collected people in his way, stopping only when he reaches the coffee table.

“Hazza!” Louis’ eyes light up with pure drunken joy when he catches sight of Harry, and his smile is loose and gleaming. He immediately jumps off the table, landing on wobbly feet. On instinct, Harry reaches out to catch him, wrapping both his arms around the older boy’s waist and interlocking his fingers. Louis grabs onto his shoulders, unsteady, but he’s still smiling. Addressing pretty much everyone around them, he yells, “Look everybody, this is my bestest friend Hazza! Isn’t he the cutest?”

Feeling a blush rise up his neck because people are starting to stare, Harry gestures with his head towards the door and says over the music, “C’mon, Lou.”

“No, _you_ come on. Come dance with me! I fucking love this song!” Louis is screaming into his ear, nails almost like talons as he pulls at Harry’s arms around his waist to let him go. And Harry can almost guarantee that Louis has no idea what song this is.

“Louis, stop.” Harry leans in close so he can say it directly into the other boy’s ear. He doesn’t let go even though he’s pretty sure Louis is drawing blood. The older boy just continues to squirm, almost like he’s dancing while in Harry’s grip. “You’ve had enough for one night. Time to go home.”

And then, somewhere behind them, there’s the distant but stinging call of, “Fags!”

Immediately, Louis stills and whips around with a deep frown on his face, eyes scanning the throng of people surrounding them like a thick wall of sweaty bodies. “Who said that?”

And yeah, okay, they do look really intimate right now, with Harry’s arms around Louis and with the fact that their bodies are flushed so closely together. From an angle, it almost looks like they could be kissing or doing something remotely close to that. But they’re not, so. People just need to mind their own business and realize that they can’t just go around calling out disgusting words to people.

Gripping tighter on Louis, Harry says, “Ignore them.”

Louis pulls his eyebrows down like he’s distraught and he turns around again, still searching for the term-slinging culprit. “But they can’t talk to us like that, Hazza.”

“Let’s just leave.” Harry loosens his hold, but only instead of grasping Louis around the waist, now he’s looping Louis’ arm through his, locking their elbows. He knows it’s most likely not going to put a damper on the name calling, but at least Louis won’t be splitting skin this way. “It’s late and you’re so pissed I bet you don’t even remember what your last name is.”

Louis’ mouth hangs open, comically, and he clutches his chest like it pains him that Harry would say such a thing. “Yes, I do! It’s Thomas!”

“Right.” Harry snorts, and then begins the process of squeezing back through the mass of teens in the direction of the door with Louis in tow. Once they somehow make it outside onto the porch, and the night air is cooling their overheated skin, Harry says, “C’mon. You can crash at my house. Your mum will have your head if she sees you like this.”

Louis must think that’s permission to turn into a spider monkey or some other clinging animal, because the next time Harry blinks, Louis is attaching himself to Harry’s back, digging his knees into Harry’s hips, arms over his head, screaming, “Sleepover!”

\--

The trip coming home was disastrous, but they made it.

Louis had wanted to ride piggy-back style the whole time and kept slapping Harry’s ass and hollering, “Giddy up, horsey!”

But now he’s settled down somewhat, and he’s lying on his back on Harry’s bed, stripped down to his boxers. It was his doing, though. The moment the two had stumbled into Harry’s room, Louis had immediately begun shucking off all of his clothing, leaving them haphazardly thrown all around Harry’s room. Harry had followed suit, but making sure to leave his pajama bottoms on, before climbing into bed after the older boy.

Now they’re lying side by side, Harry’s duvet draped over them, watching Scary, Sporty, Baby, Posh and Ginger stare at them, faces frozen in pose. It’s nearing close to three in the morning. The dark of Harry’s bedroom is illuminated only by the moonlight shining through the window. It washes a blue tint over everything. Even Louis’ skin, but Harry’s not looking, he’s definitely not.

They’ve been silent the whole time, the air only being punctured with sound when they’ve shifted and rustled the sheets or when one of them – mostly Louis – has let out a sigh. Doesn’t stay quiet for very long, though.

“Harry.” Louis breaks the air with his voice, cuts right through the silence that had settled around them. “Harry.”

He had been dozing, slowly but surely drifting off into slumber, but now Harry opens one eye, grunting, “Hm?”

“I have to tell you something.” Louis’ voice is soft and pitched down to a whisper like they’re in the middle of a crowded room and he doesn’t want anyone but Harry to hear. Beneath the covers, Louis’ fingers blindly search around until they tangle up into Harry’s. His grip is tight and his skin is radiating heat. “It’s a secret.”

Squeezing back on Louis’ fingers and rolling over onto his side so that he can face the older boy. His profile is outlined with the moonlight, from the blue of his eyes to the stubble dotted along his jaw.  Harry inquires, “What is it?”

There’s a pause where Louis closes his eyes and exhales deeply, and then, “Eleanor broke up with me.”

Eleanor is Louis’ long-legged, wavy-haired, overall ‘definition of perfect’ girlfriend. She’s charming and funny and incredibly smart and she’s everything that a guy could ever want in a girl. She’s everything that Louis wants in a girl.

Snapping fully awake and sitting up in the bed so he can looks down at Louis, Harry asks, “She what?”

Louis’ eyes get as big as saucers, and he lets go of Harry’s hand so that he can place it over the younger boy’s mouth instead. Loudly, he says, “Shhh! Keep your voice down, Hazza!”

Harry rolls his eyes and licks at Louis palm until the other boy releases him. Louis lets out a yelp, and crinkling his nose cutely, he rubs his saliva streaked hand on Harry’s blankets. Using the back of his own hand to wipe at his mouth, Harry says, “I’m not even yelling, you are. Wait. Just. Eleanor broke up with you? Like, seriously this time? Or is it another one of those times where you guys argue, don’t talk for a day, and then make up immediately?”

Because this has happened before; multiple times, actually. Where Eleanor and Louis have a rough patch in their relationship and they hash it out, whether it be in person or through text message. They’ll both sit and broil over it for a few days; act like the other doesn’t exist. But eventually, one of them will crack (usually it’s Louis) and then they’re all loved up and happy again like nothing even happened in the first place.

“She said I don’t love her as much as she loves me.” Louis sits up and the blankets pool down to his waist. His hands come up and he rubs furiously at his eyes, words sounding muffled when he says, “She said she wants to move on.”

And then Louis moves his hands away and they’re wet, and so are his cheeks, and Harry’s heart sinks, so, so low. “Jesus, Lou, are you _crying_?”

“You don’t get it! You don’t understand!” Louis slams his curled fists on the bedspread, barely making a sound, but his voice is rising in octaves. His eyebrows are pulled down tightly over his nose and he’s still crying, the crinkles by his eyes shiny wet with tears. “Two fucking years, Haz! Two fucking years and she’s just throwing it all away like that.”

“Shhh, my mum’s asleep. You’re gonna wake her with all your yelling.” Harry throws a worried glance at his bedroom door, searching for any light under the space between the floor and the bottom edge of the door. His mom loves Louis to death, but Harry is more than certain that she wouldn’t be happy to be woken up out of her sleep to find said boy sobbing in her son’s bed before dawn. Thankfully, Gemma’s out sleeping over a friend’s house. Placing a gentle hand on Louis’ neck and searching blindly with his other on his bedside table, Harry says, “C’mere, you’ve got boogers on your chin.”

He finds some unused tissue paper on his table and then dabs softly around the swollen skin beneath Louis’ eyes. He then works at the snot coating the boy’s chin, and Louis tries to speak as he does so, words coming out unintelligible. “Mm mm hmm hm hmm.”

Balling up the tissue after all traces of snot have been removed, Harry skillfully throws it into his trash bin on the other side of the room and asks, “What was that?”

“I said she broke up with me in front of all her friends; Danielle and Cher and the lot of them.” Louis wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand even though Harry’s already dabbed away all his tears. He sniffs and then hiccups immediately after. “They all – they just laughed, Hazza; said I had it coming for a while.”

Something bright hot – probably anger – boils up and up in Harry’s veins. Because why the fuck would they _laugh_ at him? Yeah, because someone’s heartbreak is so fucking hilarious. But then it’s cooled over with a dousing of sympathy when he sees the complete and utter look of sorrow mixed in with the sapphire of Louis’ irises. “Is that why you got so pissed tonight?”

Louis raises his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug and runs trembling fingers through his hair, fluffing it up on one side. “Was just trying to drink the pain away.”

Harry’s at a loss for words because his heart fucking hurts in his chest, so he says the only thing that comes to mind. “I’m sorry.”

Louis’ bare shoulders droop, defeated. “’s not your fault.”

“I know, but I’m sorry anyway.” And he makes it perfectly apparent by wrapping both of his arms around the other boy, snuggling in close. This is the first time in his life that he’s thankful for his octopus limbs. Louis may be older, but he’s much, much tinier and Harry may or may not like that more than he should.

The side of his face pressed tight up against Harry’s chest, Louis sniffs, “I’m sad.”

Harry breathes in the scent of Louis’ hair since it’s tickling the skin beneath his chin, and it smells fruity like girly shampoo, with just a trace of alcohol underneath that. Harry brings a hand up to rub on Louis’ exposed shoulder comfortingly, the flesh hot to the touch beneath his fingertips. “Well, you shouldn’t be. You don’t deserve to be broken up with like that.”

“I guess.” Louis snuffles once more before he’s wriggling, pull away from Harry’s grasp. He runs both of his hands through his fringe, doing nothing to ease the poofiness of it. “I want to do something crazy.”

Harry nods, “Okay.”

Louis sighs, “I want to do something so crazy that it … it’s like – like _crazy_ , y’know?”

“Sure, Lou. Whatever you want. As long as it doesn’t involve hurting yourself.” Harry says, because ‘crazy’ can mean a lot of different things. And a majority of them may not be safe, so he makes sure that Louis knows that there are limits of how ‘crazy’ things can be. Then he tacks on, “Or me.”

Louis rolls his eyes, hard, like what Harry just said was just about the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. And then he looks down, all nervous like, and his breath sounds a little ragged. Finally, after dragging his tongue over his bottom lip once, twice, Louis looks up and announces, “I want to kiss you.”

And Harry’s shakes his head a little bit, just to clear it out, in case he’d heard wrong or something. It’s pretty late and he hasn’t slept a wink all night so maybe it’s the delirium getting to him from his sleep deprived brain. Maybe this is all some kind of dream; maybe reality-Louis is fast asleep, Harry’s duvet tucked up to his chin. Or, maybe reality-Louis is curled up beneath his own covers, at his own house. Maybe reality-Louis is still at Josh’s party, dancing on furniture because maybe Harry never picked him up at all. All of these things could be possible, and if this _is_ a mirage, Harry’s going to ride it out, just a little longer before he pinches himself awake. “Okay.”

Voice barely above a whisper and eyes twinkling like diamonds, Louis says, “I want to kiss you, Harry.”

And Harry answers, “Okay.”

It’s the moment when Louis’ lips, soft and warm, are pressing delicately against his own that Harry realizes that, no, this isn’t a hallucination. This is the real thing and one Louis Tomlinson is kissing him.

Harry snaps to it immediately after his sudden comprehension and kisses back, and he finds out quickly that the inside of Louis’ mouth tastes like beer. It’s not the best flavor in the world, but he’d been drinking all night so Harry can’t have too many high expectations. He just plans to lick the taste completely away, if he can.

They kiss swiftly, a little feverishly on Louis’ part, but it’s nice anyway. There’s some tongue the moment that Louis licks across the seam of Harry’s lips and they part compliantly. And then Louis’ tongue is in his mouth, prodding and exploring, eager.

Just as fast as Louis’ tongue is in his mouth, he’s pulling away and something inside of Harry kind of wilts, because he thinks the kiss is over. That Louis’ finally come to his senses despite his level of intoxication and realized _oh shit I’m kissing my best friend no no abort mission._

But then Louis just leans back in and attaches his lips to the skin of Harry’s jaw, and all thoughts of the sort are erased, completely.

Harry is trying his best not to be pathetic, but he moans at an instant anyway, the sound being practically ripped from his lungs. He’s never had someone kiss him like this, all up and down his neck, licking and biting more than pressing their lips to his flesh. It’s a bit painful every time Louis sinks his teeth in and pinches with his fangs, but Harry likes it, because even though it’s probably a bit sick, he feels desired. And maybe that’s all he’s ever really wanted.

To feel claimed by Louis, to be marked by him. Because he _wants_ to be Louis’, all of Louis’ so badly that it really is borderline pitiful. He’s never forgotten about their first kiss, nearly seven years ago. He’s been replaying it in his mind almost daily because he’s been wanting for it to happen again. Of course, he had been convinced that it never would, with Eleanor in the picture and all, but maybe the universe finally doesn’t hate him anymore.

Their bare skin is pressed together, chest to chest so that it’s flushed, and Harry can feel Louis’ heart beating against him. It’s erratic, almost frantic, like Louis’ moving too fast for his mind to keep up.

And Louis is definitely moving fast, descending lower on Harry’s exposed body now, and marking up every inch of flesh he sees. He bites with all of his teeth, creating angry red marks. And then he licks over them, and then bites again, making them change colors, blue and black and purple. Louis is making art. 

When he gets there, Louis kisses Harry’s belly button, and his thumbs hook in the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He pushes the material down, down, down until the elastic of the pants are cutting into Harry’s splayed knees. To make this easier on both himself and Louis, Harry lies down until his back his flat with the mattress. Like this, his arousal is painfully obvious, straining eagerly against the material of his boxers.

It’s a bit embarrassing because is he seriously hard in front of his best friend right now, but Louis looks unperturbed. Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s influencing him, that’s calming him, but he’s hovering on his knees above Harry’s legs, hair fluffed adorably to one side and mouth kiss-red. He’s still only wearing a pair of boxers himself, but from the angle he’s in, Harry can’t really tell if Louis is as worked up about the position they’re in as he is.

But, he most clearly wants to take things a step further because peering shyly through the fan of his lashes then, Louis asks kindly, “Can I blow you?”

And wow, Harry’s never heard a better suggestion in all his life, but. But is this really what they should be doing, right now? After Louis’ just gotten his heart trampled on and while he’s clearly not in his right state of mind? Wouldn’t that be considered taking advantage on Harry part? And Harry would never do that to Louis, would never do that to anyone because that’s not fair.

They don’t have to do this, Harry thinks. They can just keep kissing, it doesn’t have to go this far. Not yet, anyway, if Louis wants. All that comes out of his mouth instead is him pointing out the obvious and saying, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re drunk, Lou.”

“Please?” Louis leans down and nuzzles his face just above the elastic of his boxers, the tip of his nose warm. Then, as if Harry needed more prodding, he licks a clean, quick swipe from the waistband up to just below Harry’s navel.

“Fuck.” Harry gasps out while he shivers involuntarily because really _fuck_. He’s not even the inebriated one here and yet it feels like his whole room is spinning in dizzying circles. Every orbit of the room makes his will power crumble, drains the argument out of him until he’s carding his fingers through Louis’ sweaty hair, pulling and breathing, “Yeah, yeah. Yes, yes. Yes.”

Louis smiles, a real smile with his teeth and everything, and then places an open mouthed kiss on Harry’s hipbone. His teeth bare and follow the kiss, and he bites at the skin, then licks over it to sooth it. The motion makes Harry’s hips jerk up on their own accord and he’s so hard he could nearly scream. Louis needs to do _something_ and quick.

Louis must finally take a hint after Harry’s reflexive gesture, because he’s got his thumbs tucked into the fabric encircled around Harry’s waist again, but this time it’s his boxers that Louis pulls down to join his pajama pants at his knees. He does it slowly, almost teasingly, and Harry writhes the whole time, his face flushed. He’ll be mortified about how virgin and inexperienced he comes as later.

When his erection finally springs free from its confines and the open air hits it, Harry gasps but the sound gets stuck in his throat. It comes out sounding garbled and Louis giggles.

“M’kay.” The older boy whispers out into the dark of the bedroom, eyes glittering. His hands are shaking slightly but he wraps his fingers around the base of Harry’s cock firmly anyway. Harry makes another jumbled sound. Licking over his bottom lip, he says, “I’ve never done this before, so sorry if I’m terrible at it.”

“’s okay. Just.” Harry can barely get the words out. Shit, he can barely breathe right now because Louis is experimentally squeezing around his length and it’s making tingles shoot up and down his spine. A bit desperately, he sighs, “Lou, c’mon.”

Louis nods and then leans down, his back arching. His lips, spit slick and kiss-swollen, are hovering just centimeters away from the head of Harry’s cock. He’s still got his fingers encircled around it for support. He opens his mouth, wide, and looks up at Harry through his fringe for confirmation. “So, do I just …?”

Harry can’t talk because all that will come out is probably a moan, so he just nods frantically instead, urging the other boy to continue. And Louis does, stretching his lips around the head of Harry’s cock and flattening his tongue against it.

Harry wants to jerk up into Louis’ mouth so, _so_ badly, but he settles for lacing his fingers in the strands of Louis’ fringe instead. He pushes the hair up and away from Louis’ face in order to get a better view and _fuck_ , what a view he has, indeed.

Louis’ lips are obscenely red from where they’re still wrapped around Harry’s cock, like they’re rubbed raw. His cheeks gave a little splash of color to them like a blush, but they’re hollowed out as he attempts to suck Harry down. His eyes are open, but they’re hazy, an opaque blue, part by arousal and part by intoxication. But goodness gracious, Harry has honestly never seen him look more beautiful.

Harry bites down hard on the flesh of his bottom lip an attempt to silence the moan that’s threatening to break loose. His mother is, after all, still down the hall, hopefully fast asleep. If she wasn’t and she, goodness forbid, caught them like this, Harry’s pretty sure that he’d be grounded for an infinity. But then again, he thinks, she said that she’d never let him see the light of day again if she ever caught him with a _girl_ in his room. And Louis is most definitely not a girl.

Speaking of Louis, he may claim to not have any blowjob expertise, but he’s doing a freaking fantastic job. So good that, when Harry does come only a few short minutes later into Louis’ fist, he swears that he sees stars shoot like fireworks behind his eyelids.

“Jesus.” Harry pants out when he finally comes back down off his euphoric high. His chest is heaving and he’s pretty sure that the back of his neck is drenched in sweat, and Louis is just hovering over him, smiling like the cat that just got the cream. Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head because that was way too literal.

“You can just call me ‘Louis’.” He hears the other boy giggle, and then sputter, blowing a raspberry until he’s full blown laughing like that was the funniest joke he’d ever made. Harry opens his eyes to find Louis red faced and gripping the bedspread to steady himself because the laughs that are racking through his body are enough to make him topple over. He’s still as drunk as he was earlier, apparently.

Harry sits up at an instant, with some difficulty because of his pants being trapped around his knees and clamps a hand over Louis’ open mouth. With his voice cracking, he scolds, “Shhh, you idiot.”

Louis’ apology gets muffled in Harry’s palm, and when Harry finally releases him, Louis laughs again, but quieter this time. He’s no longer crying or even looking remotely upset. He’s got a teasing glint in his eyes underneath the drunken sheen.

“So I just sucked you off.” He says and then reaches up to curl his fingers at the nape of Harry’s neck. He pulls until their lips meet and they’re kissing again, goose bumps covering every inch of skin all up and down Harry’s arms. And before the kiss can get deep and Harry can taste himself on Louis’ tongue, Louis pulls away. Using his thumb to wipe at the corners of his mouth, he asks with his voice absolutely wrecked, “My turn?”

Harry nods quickly and pushes back on Louis’ chest until the other boy gets the idea and lies down, flat on his back. His feet are on the pillows where his head should probably be, but it doesn’t matter right now. His hair is matted with sweat on his forehead and he’s palming at himself through his boxers, making little huffing sounds, like Harry is taking way too long.

And maybe Harry is stalling, or savoring the moment, because he never thought in a million years that this would happen to him. He’s had fantasies, daydreams, wet dreams that resulted in morning wood, but he _never_ imagined any of those ridiculous scenarios in his head becoming reality. But it’s right here, Louis’ right here, lying beneath him and stroking himself patiently.

Doesn’t take that long for Harry to snap out of his trance and he pushes Louis’ hand away. He pushes down the material that makes up Louis’ boxers eagerly, until Louis’ cock finally breaks free from its restraints. The blood in Harry’s ears thumps quicker, louder, so loud that he can’t even hear himself think, but what does he have to think about right now other than the fact that there’s a naked Louis Tomlinson beneath him?

Bracketing Louis’ legs with his knees, Harry bends and takes Louis into his mouth immediately, capturing the head of his cock between his lips. Louis’ reaction is knee-jerk and he thrusts upwards, making Harry swallow down a bit more than he was ready to. He chokes, eyes watering over involuntarily, and he releases Louis’ cock with a wet _pop_ to cough. Louis’ eyes get wide as saucers, and he reaches down to lace a hand in Harry’s curls and start apologetically scratching at the younger boy’s scalp. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.”

Harry nuzzles into the touch like the cat everyone always tells him he was in a past life. Voice scratchy, he assures Louis, “’s okay.”

And then he gets right back to work, licking and sucking with vigor around Louis’ cock, stroking with his hand everything he can’t reach with his mouth. He even takes advice from a porno he saw once and flattens his tongue in order to lick straight up the underside of Louis’ cock from base to head and then swirls his tongue around the tip when he gets there. Louis moans out appreciatively.

The alcohol has probably tampered with his stamina as well, because in no time Louis is coming with a gasp of “fuck” into Harry’s enclosed fist. However, it’s a bit erratic so a stripe of the sticky substance manages to make it across Harry’s stomach.

After they’ve cleaned up, which was really just wiping off drying come off their hands and Harry’s abdomen with tissues and wriggling back into their respective boxers, they both feel sated and tired, their bones heavy. Harry lets out a breath because his mother is still sleeping soundly down the hall and their moment wasn’t shattered by her barging in unexpectedly. That’s what happens in all the teen movies, and Harry is glad he isn’t living a cliché.

They fix themselves so that their heads are resting on the right end of the bed, face to face. Harry drapes the blanket over both of them, and makes sure to tuck them in under Louis’ chin. Blinking sleepily up at him and with the most adorable yawn, Louis offers, “Cuddle?”

“Of course.” Harry agrees immediately and goes to wrap his arms around Louis like he did when the other boy was crying. It feels better to do so now that their doing it when the atmosphere is much lighter.

“No, no.” Louis makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat, and he pushes Harry’s arms off of him. Then he nudges into Harry’s ribs with his fingers until the younger boy complies and rolls onto his side, facing away from Louis. The older boy scoots closer until his chest is flush with Harry’s back and he throws both an arm and a leg over Harry. His ankle locks with Harry’s and his palm splays open in order to come to rest on the expanse of Harry’s chest. He says yawns again, “’m taller, I have to be the big spoon.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, suddenly feeling extremely lightheaded and airy, and then proceeds to reach down and intertwine his fingers with the ones resting on his chest. He has half a mind to bring them up to his chest and kiss Louis knuckles, but he decides against it. He softly says, “Alright, Lou.”

Sleep comes slowly even though it’s so late that its morning and both boys are spent. Unbeknownst to the other, they both lay awake for a while, silence settling over them once more, like it did before anything had happened. And just like before, Louis cuts through it again with his voice. Hushed and breathed against the bare, sweaty skin of Harry’s shoulder, Louis whispers, “Fuck, I love you, Harry.”

And they’re relationship has always been like this, even with the other boys. All five of them are big with affection and terms of endearment. Cuddles are common and butt-groping is hilarious and kisses (on the cheek) are just bordering on new territory, but they’re still fine. And saying ‘I love you’ to one another comes just as naturally as breathing.

But this time, it feels different. Louis’ voice isn’t playful or falsely serious and they’ve just had sex, which is highly intimate. Even the cuddling is different because Louis is curled around him like he never wants to let go. And Harry’s heart beats fast and loud in his chest when he licks over his lips before asking almost inaudibly, “You do?”

Louis nods, and the movement is felt because the fringe of his hair tickles the back of Harry’s neck. He hums sincerely, “Mhm.”

And if he’s got a ridiculously dopey smile on his face, and if his cheeks are so hot they’re probably going to catch fire and if his heart is pumping the blood in his ears so loudly he can barely hear himself reply, “I – I love you too.” well, that’s Harry’s little secret.

\--

When Harry blinks awake the morning after, it’s to the sun shining annoyingly in his eyes and the sounds of his mother puttering around in the kitchen below.

He yawns after he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and sits up, blinking to get his vision into focus. His room comes into view eventually, only slightly a bit blurry, and he reaches over to the other side of the bed to tell Louis that he should probably go before Harry’s mom comes in. She always does that in the mornings, just barging into his room without knocking, dressed for work and smelling like sweet perfume.    

His heart rate kicks in the moment he feels against the sheets, and there’s nothing.

There’s just a cold, empty space there, where Louis should be sleeping; where he should be waiting to wake up with a major hang over and a craving for tea. But he’s not, and Harry panics immediately, the events of the night prior crashing all around his ears in waves; party noise all around him, Louis crying in the dark, Louis’ lips pressing all over his skin, biting all over his skin.

Involuntarily, Harry’s hands splay out on his torso and his fingers touch over the tender spots that are littering all over his chest, dark and angry-looking. They’re sore and they hurt, so they’re real. It really happened.

It _all_ really happened, including the bit where they both sucked each other off.

“Shit.” He says into the air of his empty bedroom.  

Pushing his floppy curls off his forehead, Harry shoots out of bed at a lightning speed, in nothing but his boxers. The cold of the morning hits him and he shivers unwillingly, feeling goose bumps rise all up and down his exposed skin. Hissing, he steps over to his drawers to find a pair of sweatpants or something to put on so that he can properly freak out about the fact that a) Louis is nowhere to be found, b) he and Louis pretty much had sex last night and c) oh goodness, he and Louis pretty much had sex last night.

And then that’s when something catches his eye. There’s a scrap of paper wedged in between the pages of his textbook that’s resting on his desk right next to the closet. The paper is concealed but still in plain sight. When he pauses and pulls it out of its hiding place, it’s got Louis’ handwriting on it, all wobbly and hurried letters.

_left cause I heard your mum downstairs, sorry for crying all over you_

There’s no heart or ‘x’ or even one of Louis’ signature smiley faces with the crooked grin and disproportionate eyes.

Harry lets out a sigh of relief that calms the tangle of butterflies in his stomach, though, after crumpling up the paper and tossing it into the waste bin. Not only is he reassured that Louis is mostly likely safe and sound in his own home, he’s honestly grateful that Louis left so that he can have a moment to gather himself.

So, his dreams pretty much came true last night. His mundane Saturday night filled with homework and textbooks took a dramatic turn for the unbelievable after he did his part in comforting a friend. It’s amazing, really, how quickly things had changed. He was ready to just come to terms with the fact that maybe Louis and Eleanor were going to be that couple that stays together, even after school is finished.

But now he and Louis have slept together, now they’ve shared an intimate moment, and that’s got to mean something, right? Two friends don’t just blow each other and then it means nothing afterward. Well, maybe they can, but Harry doesn’t want to let what they did turn into something that was ‘just for fun’.

But above all, he knows that they need to talk. That is certain. They’re close, of course, but they’ve never taken it that far before and they should work it out so that things don’t get horrendously awkward between the two of them. And Harry decides that it’d probably be better for both of them if their talk happened sooner than later.

After he’s had breakfast and seen his mother off to work, Harry takes a shower and uses the time he has in there to contemplate his next move. Should he call Louis? Would texting him be better? And if he did text him, what would he say?

He towels off and puts on fresh clothing before splaying open his homework again, since he never got to finish. He’s got his cellphone in his hands though, the message box for Louis open and ready for him to begin typing, the little line at the beginning blinking with anticipation. Steeling himself and mentally scolding himself for acting like such a wimp, Harry settles on: _hey_

He presses send with a heavy feeling in his chest and gets back to his work, but he honestly can’t focus. Minutes tick by, and he reads the same paragraph from the textbook over and over and over again so that the words blur together and look like complete gibberish. All he can really think about is his phone beside him and how it has yet to vibrate.

Maybe Louis is just asleep? So Harry sends him another text to read when he wakes up.

_you still going over liam’s later?_

That’s good, he thinks. That’s normal. Going over Liam’s every Sunday to hang out is pretty much tradition. They’ve been doing it ever since he could remember, right when they discovered that, despite Liam being anal, his parents are pretty chill. They supply the boys with food and drink, always opting to stay downstairs than to hover around them. That’s how they get away with a lot of the shit they do.

Hours pass this time, and there’s still no word from Louis. It’s well late in the day, nearly sundown, and even with the hangover he probably has, Louis couldn’t possibly have slept this late. He has to be awake. Harry has long since finished all his homework and studied for his upcoming tests. He’s just lying on his bed now, with his feet dangling up in the air, his mobile on his chest. He just wants it to ring, he just wants Louis to text him back.

_i hope you are because i can’t wait to see you_

His thumb hovers over the send button momentarily for this one because is that a little weird? Should he say that? Would it be right, would it be crossing a line somehow? Well, he thinks, they ventured out of the ‘just friends’ zone the moment they gave each other blowjobs. So he sends it.

And gets absolutely nothing in return.

His phone’s screen is telling him he’s got no new texts even an hour and a half later while he’s getting ready to go to Liam’s. He’s lacing up his sneakers and buttoning up his jacket and tossing his hair even though there’s no use because his hair is going to stay permanently Shirley Temple curly. Feeling a little bit of discomfort in his chest, Harry sends another message.

_last night was really great_

He walks to Liam’s with an oath to himself to not check his phone, even if it buzzes. He’s realized that he’s probably starting to look a little desperate.

He says polite hellos to both Mr. and Mrs. Payne after they promise to bring up some snacks soon before taking the stairs of their house two at a time. The hallway is familiar, and he pushes the door open to Liam’s bedroom without knocking to find his friends positioned across the room.

“Hey.” Harry addresses them all in greeting at once. Niall lifts his fingers in a wave from where he’s dangling upside down on the edge of Liam’s bed with half a slice of pizza wedged in his mouth and a game controller in his free hand. Zayn nods in acknowledgment from Liam’s desk but doesn’t look up from where his nose is buried deep in a book with no cover or title on the spine, but it’s probably something about poetry or art because Zayn is hipster like that. Liam is the only one that smiles at him from where he’s over by his closet, seemingly color coordinating all his clothes. Louis is nowhere to be found. Harry voices this issue, asking, “Where’s Lou?”

“Home. Told me he wasn’t feeling well. Partied too hard last night, I’m assuming.” Liam answers with two similarly colored button ups hanging off of hangers in his hands. He studies both of them closely before deciding to put the light blue one in front of the dark blue one in the closet.

Harry nods and moves to take a seat on the bed beside Niall, his usual spot. Still talking to Liam, he asks, “He texted you?”

Liam shakes his head, but his curls don’t bounce because he hasn’t got them anymore. Now his hair is closely cut like he’s nearly bald. He did it a few months ago when he broke up with Danielle, something about wanting to renew himself. “No, he called me.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart hardens and sinks a little. Louis called Liam. He called Liam, and yet he hasn’t responded to any of Harry’s text messages all day. Harry fishes around in his back pocket for his phone because maybe the call was recent. He hasn’t checked his phone in the past half hour, maybe Louis finally texted him back. But, there’s nothing. No new messages, no missed calls. Nothing. Because Louis is ignoring him.

And Harry tries his best not to let that new realization affect his mood, but it’s hard. It’s hard because the whole time that’s the only thing that keeps popping in and out of his brain. When Niall’s trying to goad him into versing him in two-player mode on the video games, all Harry can think about is why Louis is ignoring him. When Zayn is showing him his favorite page in the book he’s reading (it is poetry), he’s not really listening, instead wondering on why Liam got a phone call and he didn’t. When Mrs. Payne comes in with a platter of her delicious sandwiches, he’s too busy thinking hard over what Louis could possibly be doing that’s more important than texting him back to enjoy them properly.

After a while, his dismay must start to become apparent on his face because suddenly Liam’s hovering over him, all mother hen-like, eyebrows furrowed. With his hands on his hips, he questions, “You okay, Harry?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Harry fibs, but then he thinks better of it, because one simply cannot just lie to Liam, especially when his face looks like a wounded puppy. He shakes his head, “Actually, no. I’m not. I’m gonna head home.”

“Alright.” Liam nods, but he’s still got that worried look in his big brown eyes. “You sure you wanna go home? You could spend the night. My mom won’t mind.”

Harry shakes his head again, “No, it’s alright.” 

When he leaves the Payne residence, the sky is tar black with a smattering of stars on it. But they aren’t bright and twinkling like they should be, like people always say they are and maybe that’s another sign that maybe shouldn’t always believe in dreams coming true.

His mood is rightfully foul by the time he gets home. He gets held up in the kitchen to greet his mother and get sisterly tormented by Gemma and get brushed up on by the cat, and he puts on a happy smile for all of them. Even though she doesn’t say it, Anne senses something’s a bit off with him and he knows this because she hugs him extra tight when saying goodnight. When he finally makes it up to his room, he just wants this day to be done with and gets into bed immediately after changing his clothes.

_are we okay?_

Before he finally succumbs to the waves of exhaustion reaching out for him, Harry crosses his fingers and just hopes for a response for this one, his final message and probably the most important one of them all, even though he knows it’s not likely.

\--

It’s Monday morning, and he’s sitting in Zayn’s car now, in the back on the left side because that’s his usual seat. All the boys have one, ever since Zayn even got the car and one of them sitting in another’s spot is like the worst thing you could ever do in the car. That’s why Harry is a bit bummed out, because he’d really like to sit next to Louis this particular morning, but Louis sits on the right side and Niall is sat right in the middle.

Speaking of Louis, when Zayn comes to a slow in front of the Tomlinson’s, the last house stop before they begin to head to school, the boy in question is already waiting on the sidewalk with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

Before getting in, he throws his backpack in the boot of the car. When he’s finally settling in, he greets quite cheerily, “Good morning, everyone.”

“Well, you’re looking refreshed.” Niall comments as Louis fumbles around with the seatbelt, trying to click it in.

“Yeah, I know. I just slept and drank tea all day yesterday. I was in heaven.” Louis uses his hand to push some hair off his forehead, and he really does look reinvigorated. His cheeks are tanned and ruddy, his lips are kissable pink. He’s got a smile on that’s lighting up his whole face and he leans forward in his seat, as far as his seatbelt will allow him, and dives his wiggling fingers into Zayn’s quiff, yelling, “Drive, Malik, drive!”

Zayn grumbles and swats Louis off, turning the key in the ignition when Louis finally rests and sits back in his seat properly. He doesn’t peel away from the curb though; he pulls down the flap with the little square mirror embedded into it and checks his reflection closely. “Alright, alright. Just don’t touch my hair.”

If possible, Louis’ smile only gets bigger and he uses a finger to poke at the side of his own face, teasingly inquiring, “Is that a wrinkle I see? You shouldn’t frown so much, Zayney.”

Zayn glares darkly at him through the mirror, but there’s no real malice behind it. “Fuck off, Lou.”

After Louis snickers at Zayn’s annoyance, there’s a lull in conversation where the five of them just sit quietly while Zayn fusses over his hair, which still looks perfectly fine despite Louis’ actions. Harry bites at his bottom lip nervously, thinking that this might be the right time. They’re not going to _talk_ about it of course, not with the other boys in such close proximity, but he just wants Louis to _look_ at him for goodness sakes. Glancing over at the boy in question, he says, “Lou.”

Beside him, Niall suddenly pops back into conversation, leaning forward in his seat like Louis did, but this time so that he can poke Liam in the ribs. “So, Liam, excited about seeing Danielle today? Heard all the cheerleaders got new uniforms that make their boobs look enormous and they’re going to wear them at the game tonight.”

Zayn begins to drive the moment that Liam’s face turns cherry red and he rolls his eyes exasperatedly, saying, “I don’t care about what Danielle’s wearing, Niall. We’re broken up.”

Niall hums in agreement, and then rolls his shoulders in a shrug. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still look at her tits.”

“How do you know about the uniforms?” Louis cuts in, a smirk on his lips now. He must’ve not heard Harry either, because he doesn’t turn his head or look Harry’s way. In fact, he hasn’t even acknowledged Harry’s presence at all. “Been snooping in the girl’s locker room again, Horan?”

Harry tries again, a bit louder this time, to try and break through the conversation. He has half a mind to reach over and tap Louis on the arm, but he doesn’t. “Lou.”

“I’ve got my sources.” Niall continues without a beat with a cheeky grin on his face, obviously not hearing Harry again. He punches Louis playfully on the arm which just ends up into the two of them slapping at each other until Zayn yells at them to cut it out. Laughing a bit breathlessly, Niall quips at Louis, “Jealous?”

Louis brushes some hair that fell down back off his forehead and rolls his eyes at the blonde boy beside him. “Quite possibly, yeah.”

And from his spot, Harry’s getting a little impatient. There’s a hard feeling in his stomach like a lump got stuck there, because why won’t Louis look at him? Ignoring him through text is one thing, but ignoring him while he’s sitting _right here_ is another. Exhaling roughly through his nose, Harry opens his mouth and very clearly says, “Lou.”

Finally, fucking _finally_ , Louis leans forward just a little so that he can see around Niall and make eye contact with Harry. It’s not exactly what Harry was expecting, with the way that Louis’ eyes are dull and a blank blue, despite the fact that they were just glittering a few seconds ago. But Harry will take it, only because being ignored by the older boy was started to make him come undone. Very calmly and very quietly, Louis says, “Hi.”

Harry swallows some excess saliva before replying just as softly, “Hi.”

And that’s the end of it because then Louis goes back to his sitting position and starts to initiate the slap fight with Niall again. The rest of the car ride is mostly filled in with Louis and Niall’s banter with the occasional punctuation coming from either Liam or Zayn. No one can really sense the tension, but it’s there.

It’s there every time there’s a dip in the conversation and Louis fidgets in his place like he’s expecting Harry to call his name again. It’s there every time Niall will turn in his seat in an attempt to get Harry involved in the conversation, and Louis will just quickly rake his eyes over Harry and then turn away. The tension is there but only two of them feel it.

When the pull into the school’s student parking lot all five of them bustle out of the car, but Louis pauses to grab his bag from the back. Harry lingers a little while the other three go on ahead and while Louis rummages through all of the junk Zayn keeps back there. Finally huffing out a relieved breath when he finds his bag, Louis shuts the trunk.

And when he does he lets out a little yelp, eyes all wide because he didn’t see Harry standing there, waiting for him. He doesn’t say anything though, just schools his expression into one that’s unperturbed and then turns on his heel, beginning the walk through the parking lot towards the school building itself. Harry catches up to him, toting his own bag, making sure to keep up with Louis’ quick steps. So, it’s just the two of them walking side by side.

This is his chance. Harry coughs out a slightly quiet, “So, you didn’t call me yesterday. Or text, or anything.”

There’s a bit of a stutter in Louis’ stride, but his face remains expressionless and blank. He then turns his head towards Harry only somewhat and raises both his shoulders in a shrug. He explains, “I wasn’t feeling well, Harry. My hangover was killer. I could barely move.”

“But you felt well enough to call Liam.” Harry counters with no real accusation in his voice, but it’s there, they both can feel it, just like the malleable tension in the car.

Louis suddenly stops in his tracks, causing Harry to do the same. The older boy lets out a sigh, one that’s long and drawn out, and he rubs a hand over his face tiredly. Maybe all the pep and cheeriness he had in the car was a façade. Voice wary, he asks, “Can we talk later? I’ll come over after school?”

“Sure.” Harry agrees immediately, because yes, talking is _exactly_ what he wanted to do.

For the rest of the morning, Harry feels both nervous and excited. Like he’s being numbed and electrified at the same time. His classes seem to fly by like someone’s set the clock to go quicker so that the bells will ring faster. There’s a jittery energy inside him the whole time as well, one that he has to release in the form of tapping his pencil rapidly and then jiggling his leg up and down when the pencil tapping annoys his fellow classmates.

It’s lunch time that shatters it all for him, when he gets to his table, the one he sits at with the boys, to find that he’s seat has been taking. It’s a girl with long brunette hair and a dazzling white smile and she’s got her head thrown back in a beautiful laugh by the time Harry sidles up, most likely because of something that Louis said. When she sees Harry standing there, her smile gets brighter, and she gives him a wave, saying, “Harry! Hi!”

“Hi, Eleanor.” He greets her politely, but on the inside it feels like there’s a bomb about to explode in his chest. Because this cannot seriously be happening right now and why is she sitting in _his_ seat and why isn’t anybody else bothered by this. Looking around the table for help is useless because Niall is engrossed in his sandwich and Zayn and Liam have their heads bent together, most likely in a heated discussion about whether or not Superman and Batman would make a good crime-fighting duo.                                                   

The only other person that’s sitting there is Louis, but once again, it’s like Harry’s not even there. He just pulls a little on Eleanor’s wrist while standing up from his seat, saying, “C’mon. Let’s go sit with Cher.”

Harry watches them go with a weighty feeling in his heart and like his bones are made of lead so that he plops down heavily into his seat. Once again, the stiffness goes unnoticed.

The rest of the day leading up to the dismissal bell is miserable, a complete contrast to how Harry felt before lunch. So what did that mean exactly, Eleanor sitting in his seat? What exactly did Louis ditching his regular table to go sit with her and her friends mean? Maybe he’s overthinking things, like he always tends to do. But no, he decides. No, because Louis and Eleanor are supposed to be broken up. They’re supposed to be angry at one another and ignoring each other, so why is everything so twisted?

Much to Harry’s horror, a cold realization dawns on him then, the realization that maybe they’ve gotten back together. But while sitting in the middle of English he shakes his head hard on that one, because Louis wouldn’t do that to him. Louis has a heart, a big one at that, and he’d never just use Harry like that. Sure, the signs are clearly there, but Harry won’t believe it. He refuses to believe it until they’ve talked.

When the dismissal bell rings, Harry practically jumps out of his seat and rushes to his locker as fast as he can. After making a book exchange, he weaves expertly through the hordes of students in the hallway in order to make it out to Zayn’s car.

The only other person who’s there when he finally makes it out side is Niall, but the others show up eventually. Louis is the last one, and he’s got his head ducked and his bottom lip caught in between his teeth, anxiously. There’s a discomfort in Harry’s stomach, but he pretends like it isn’t there. They’re going to talk; he’ll feel the right thing after they’ve talked.

The drive seems to take forever, with Liam and Niall bickering about Danielle’s boobs that apparently looked amazing and Zayn getting stuck behind a woman jabbering away on her cellphone and not paying attention to the changing streetlights. Liam is dropped off home first, followed by Niall, and without them two bantering away, it’s mostly silent, save for the occasional groan from Zayn about how slow other people are driving. Finally, finally, Zayn pulls up to Harry’s house.

Harry gets out of the car immediately and is very happy to see that Louis follows his lead, getting out of the car as well.

When Zayn realizes that Louis has gotten out of the car as well, he furrows his eyebrows and asks, “You’re not going home, Tommo?”

“No, going to hang with Harry for a bit.” Louis waves at them with two fingers at him with a little smile on his face. “See you.”

Harry begins the trudge up the front walk while Louis follows dutifully behind him. Harry unlocks the door with his key and lets Louis go in front of him while he makes sure that the door is locked again. They take the steps with Louis in front this time and go straight to Harry’s bedroom without a word.

Inside, Louis pauses momentarily while staring hard at the bed, like he’s replaying the scene of the two of them from the night before last night. Then he sighs and plunks himself down on the edge of the bed. Giving him some space, Harry takes a seat at his desk, dropping his backpack at his feet. His stomach is doing all these crazy loopty loops and he takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

They’re quiet for a while, Harry doesn’t really know how much time passes, but they just look at each other before Louis breaks the silence. He bites absently on his bottom lip, nearly splitting the flesh and he asks, “Where’s your mum?”

Harry shrugs and furrows his eyebrows a little bit, because he doesn’t want to stall. Stalling just makes things worse. He sits a little straighter at his desk and answers, “Out.”

“Hm. Right.” The older boy runs a hand through his hair, nervous. He puffs out his cheeks in an exhale and then after he inhales deeply, he starts, “So, Harry –”

“You don’t have to apologize or anything.” Harry cuts him short, because he doesn’t want to hear this. He knows what’s coming; he knows what Louis is going to say. He knows that whatever is about to come out of Louis’ mouth is going to hurt him, badly. To save himself the inevitable heartbreak, and to just get things over with before he becomes a complete mess, he puts it all out there himself. “It’s okay that you regret it, because I know you do. I mean, obviously you do since you’re back with … her.”

“I’m sorry, Hazza. I really am.” And, yeah, Louis does look genuinely apologetic, blues eyes earnest and solemn. It makes a lump form in Harry’s throat. Louis’ hands keep moving, too, as he speaks. They’re picking at a loose thread on Harry’s bedspread, they’re playing at the neckline of his shirt, they’re wringing together. “It was a mistake, a drunken one. I – I didn’t even realize what had happened until I woke up. I don’t even remember most of it.”

 _I do._ Harry wants to yell at him, wants to scream it out for anyone walking past his house at the moment to hear, for the whole world to hear. _I remember all of it._

But all he lets out is a quiet and slightly croaky, “It’s okay.”

Louis peeks out from under his fringe, hesitant. “You sure?”

 _No, no I’m not sure. And I’m not okay either._ “I’m sure.”

“Okay, good. That’s really good.” Louis lets out a long, low exhale like he had been holding his breath the entire time. The corners of his lips tuck up a bit, like he wants to smile, but then he’s visibly biting on the inside of his cheek, and saying, “Let’s not tell the boys about this, yeah? Or Eleanor. Or … anyone, for that matter. Let’s just keep this between you and me.”

“Okay.” Harry agrees easily, but it hurts so fucking bad on the inside. Louis is talking about what they did like it’s forbidden, like it’s a secret, like it’s something they need to be _ashamed_ of. Which is complete bullshit because what happened between them was _beautiful_. Or, at least Harry thought so. 

“Thank you.” Louis’ smile looks sincere but mostly it just looks relieved. He reaches across the space between them and pats a hand on Harry’s knee extremely platonically, squeezing a bit. The gesture makes Harry’s stomach coil. “You really are my best friend, Harry.”

“Same.” The younger boy says lamely, fiddling distractedly with the hem of his T-shirt. If he keeps messing with it he’s going to tear right through the fabric, but it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It’s the only thing keeping him from grabbing Louis right now by the nape of his neck and smothering the boy with kisses. Just to show him that yes, it did mean something to Harry. It meant a lot to Harry.

Louis stands and breathes out, one hand in the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out his phone and begins fiddling with the keypad, walking towards the bedroom door. Before he leaves, he turns back to Harry and says, “Text you later, okay?”

“Yeah.” Harry replies weakly, and for some reason feels just as little and just as pathetic as he was when he was the kid who best friend acted like their first kiss never happened all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the smut was okay. Tried to make it as smut-y as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still trying to figure out what happened, lol. Sorry again. Hope it was bearable.


End file.
